The 23rd Hour
by Luna Manar
Summary: The best presents don’t come in packages. And sometimes they chew on you


The 23rd Hour

By Luna Manar

* * *

_  
"You can't look dignified when you're having fun."  
_

* * *

Squall Leonhart opened his eyes, scowling. "No," he said, looking away. "I won't."

"Please?"

"No."

"Come on, Squall."

"How many times do I have to say it? _No._"

"More than you have already. Why _not?_"

Squall exercised a maneuver he normally only employed in hand-to-hand combat to slip past Rinoa, who was blocking his way with as much frustrating effectiveness as a malboro in a sewer system. Twisting away from her, he ducked fluidly under her outstretched arm, refraining from the delivering his elbow to the small of her back—a blow which would have followed if she were a true enemy—although he'd considered it with some degree of seriousness. Instead he kept a tight rein on his annoyance, stalking from one end of his quarters to the other. "I'm leaving for Trabia tomorrow at seven in the morning," he snarled over his shoulder, counting his steps to the wall. "I don't have time to screw around." He stopped before his gunblade case and knelt, taking it from where it leaned against the wall and laying it flat before him. He snapped the latches and flipped the lid up sharply. "You know how I feel about these things."

"They're throwing the party just for you. You'd be disappointing everyone." Staring imperturbably at his back, Rinoa folded her arms. Then, feeling uncomfortable with the silence, she tilted her head to rest her cheek in the cup of her palm, bracing her elbow with her other hand. "You should at least show up."

"And tell them what?" Squall pretended to check to be certain everything in the case was in order. "'Thanks for the party, morons. I hate parties. Have fun without me.'"

"You don't have to be a jerk, just show up and stand around for a while. It's all you ever do at parties, anyway. It can't be that hard."

"I hate parties, Rinoa."

Smirking, she rolled her eyes, the tilt of her head following her gaze. "And you hate dancing," she shot back, leveling her narrow stare once again at the back of Squall's head, "and romance, and leadership positions, and music, and acting, an—"

"All _right,_" he slammed the case closed with a loud _snap._ "Fine, I see your point—but that last one doesn't count. _I was drafted._"

"But you were so _good _at—"

"I don't wanna talk about it, okay? It was the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me." Standing, carrying the weapon- and munitions-laden case to his bed, Squall set his burden down and continued to the open closet. He felt about for his well-worn jacket and yanked it forcefully from the hangar.

"Fine, we won't talk about it. Will you come to the party?"

"Are all of you gonna try to get me smashed again?"

Rinoa frowned. "Squall, would I do a thing like that?"

He paused momentarily in the midst of his vicious packing routine, and turned an aberrantly wide-eyed gaze in her general direction, though he did not look at her precisely. "Yes," he said seriously. His eyes were vacant, blind, yet distant—he was envisioning a hundred nightmarish scenarios to which his answer might apply.

"Well, I won't," she assured him with a genuine smile he did not see. "Promise."

Squall blinked, breaking himself from his reverie. He laid his jacket out on the bed beside the gunblade case, a grim look on his face. He said nothing, moved on to the dresser, pulling out what little clothing was required for a week of field duty. Silence was always the easiest way to get the truth out of Rinoa. She couldn't stand silence. She had to say something.

"…But it wouldn't hurt you to let yourself have a little fun, you know?"

_Bingo. _"Right," he grumbled as he returned to the bed again. "If your idea of 'fun' is making a complete idiot of yourself and living to regret it for the next week."

"You'll be _gone _all next week. By the time you get back, anything you said or did won't be held against you anymore."

"It doesn't matter, anyway. The last thing I need is to wake up with a splitting headache the morning I'm supposed to go on a mission."

Rinoa shrugged, as if the solution was obvious. "Call in sick."

"_What?" _Squall snapped, aghast at the very suggestion."You've gotta be kidding me."

"You wouldn't be lying."

"You know I'm not gonna do that. Rinoa, I gotta get out of here for a while. I've been hanging around for too long. This place is too quiet anymore. I'm suffocating…I need a challenge. Besides, I thought you said you wouldn't try to convince me."

"I said I wouldn't try to _get _you drunk. I didn't say anything about not trying to sweet talk you into coming to the party."

Squall felt his lips twitch, a bemused smirk fighting to express itself despite his better judgement. He shook his head as he returned to the closet, pulling out a diminutive duffel that looked entirely too small to contain even a single change of clothes. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

Rinoa's frown inverted into a tight smile. "Takes one to know one. I'm aware." She paused dramatically. "…So you'll go to the party?"

He unzipped the bag, stuck his arm in it to unflatten it. "Why should I? Give me a good reason."

"Well, setting aside for the moment that I won't leave you alone until you either make me mad, or say yes, and we both know it…" She wandered absently to the bed, sitting down on the edge and watching as Squall proceeded to expertly fold and stuff two changes of clothes into a space that was not meant for one. "…It's your twenty-third birthday. It should be special."

"What's special about it?"

"Today is August the twenty-third. You're turning twenty three. That's not going to happen again. It's like a blue moon." Her grin widened and took on rather impish quality, eyes turning up in what would have been suspicion if not for the smile. "_Strange _and _unusual _things are supposed to happen. You'd have an excuse to do something out of character. You can have a good time doing it, and not have to apologize for it."

"You're talking like I'm trying to keep up appearances or something. Rinoa, I don't care what other people think. I just don't see the point. I don't have 'fun' at parties. I'll be a drag on you and everyone else there, and feel stupid doing it. It's a waste of everyone's time."

"You don't have to feel stupid, and it's not a waste of time if you can at least appreciate the sentiment. Parties aren't just for the person having a birthday, you know. They're for your friends, too. We like the fact you've been here, in our lives. We want to celebrate it."

"You make it sound like a funeral." Squall zipped his stuffed duffel with a sweeping gesture—as if he were closing up a body bag.

Rinoa's face screwed up in a sneer at the comparison, though she had known Squall too long not to recognize his dark sense of humor; it was a joke, or as close as Squall came to joking. She stuck her tongue out at his oblique smirk. "You're so morbid. Leave it you to say something like that about a birthday party."

Wordless, but his mood not quite as sour now as it had been a moment ago, Squall crossed the room, passing Rinoa on his way to the lavatory. He made a languid swipe at the side of her head with the flat of his palm; she dodged him, ducking under the blow. She stuck out a foot to trip him; he stepped over it deftly, as if it had always been there.

"You're a big jerk," she called after him, "you know that?"

"Takes one to know one," he returned gamely, skulking into the bathroom. "I'm aware."

Rinoa sighed, her playful smile softening into one of resignation. She reclined on the balls of her hands, watching Squall thoughtfully as he opened the mirror cabinet and fingered through the contents. He moved his hand expertly across the assorted toiletries, snatching up the necessary targets with mantid precision. "You never know," she hazarded after a minute or two, while Squall searched for a razor that was presently eluding him. "…You might _actually _have a good time." Her eyes spotted the runaway razor on the floor beneath the sink. "Stranger things have happened."

"That's up for debate." The toe of Squall's boot hit the elusive razor, sending it clattering behind the toilet bowl. Startled, he searched the floor around his feet after the fact, and, not finding his quarry, muttered a few choice words that Rinoa could not make out and decided she didn't care to.

"Will it ruin your day to grace us with your royal presence for an hour?"

Squall finally located his missing razor, made a few rather interesting contortions to retrieve it from behind the commode, and slammed his head against the underside of the sink on his way back up. Gritting his teeth behind tight lips, he caged a great number of immediate reactions behind a professional mask—not the least of which was to throw the shaving utensil at Rinoa and hence punish two annoyances in one fell swoop. Instead he turned in his crouch to stare grouchily out the door, lightly tossing the razor up a few inches and catching it again in a tesky, thoughtful pattern, toss, flip, catch, toss, flip, catch. "Is that what I have to do to get you to shut up about it?"

"Don't do it to shut me up." Rinoa's tone softened seriously. "Do it because you want to. If you don't want to, that's fine…but I don't think it's as much an imposition as you're making it out to be. I think it's the practicality of the idea you hate more than the principle of it."

Sighing, Squall stood, more carefully this time, avoiding any more head injuries. He turned his back to the doorway and spent enough time rinsing the razor in the sink to have cleaned it free of floor-bound germs fifteen times over. Gathering his handful of cabinet selections, he closed the mirror-door and returned to the duffel, depositing the contents of his hands to their respective places in a utility pouch strapped to the side of the bag.

Finally formulating an answer to her educated guess, he tread the subject carefully, his voice nearly toneless; he wasn't simply being difficult anymore. "Others want me to be happy," he said, "and I understand that, but I don't want anyone trying to _make _me happy. I can't appreciate it anyway, once it becomes an obligation. …I have enough of those as it is." He buttoned the pouch shut, and stood with his arms folded, having nothing left to pack and little more to do. He did not need to see the bedside clock to know it was close to 10 PM.

Rinoa's smile returned, knowing sympathy for his brooding. "It's just a birthday, Squall. The last thing you should be doing is taking it seriously. What did you call it? 'Just another day out of the year.'"

"I thought you said it should be special."

"Not if that means you're going to angst over it. Forget what I said. I was being annoying on purpose."

Squall released another sigh that sounded more like a growl. "One thing I can always count on…"

"What, that I'm annoying?" She tried to hide the laugh in her voice, and failed.

"That too," he quipped, straight-faced. "But I was going to say you confuse the hell out of me. Say what you mean, already. Don't play games."

Rinoa stood then, slowly, crossing the two steps between them. She rested a hand on his folded arms, and looked him square in the eyes, though he did not return the gaze directly. "It would be very appreciated if you'd come to your own birthday party. You have a choice. You could go…and everyone will be astonished to know you came because you chose to and not because I _made _you. Or you can stay here and go to sleep, and have nothing whatsoever to remember about your birthday at all. They'll understand, because that's just…the way it is. It's the way _you _are. They'll know not to take it personally. If you do go, everyone's going to want to get you to join in their fun. They're going to sing birthday songs to you, and they're going to hope you smile. They're going to try to get you drunk. There will be music and most likely dancing."

"Sounds like hell."

Her hand tightened around his arm. "It's completely selfish. I want you to come…and it's probably true there's nothing there _you _would possibly want to participate in. But I thought maybe if you _could _enjoy yourself, you would."

"There is one thing…"

"What is it?" A long moment in which Squall appeared to be carefully considering his words; Rinoa wondered if he was purposely leading her on.

"You talked about dancing."

She blinked, staring at his concrete scowl, not certain if she'd heard correctly. "…Squall?"

He closed his eyes, breathing evenly. "Just been a long time, that's all. Not since…" Eyelids flicking open, he pinned her with an off-target look that still managed to convey broken amusement, though the rest of his grave expression did not so much as twitch. "Don't tell me you've forgotten how."

"Of course not!" She did her best at sounding indignant. "I was a little surprised you said that, that's all. It's been a while."

"I think I could do it. It's measured stuff, choreography. Not all that different from combat exercises, really." He tilted his head as if to listen for something, angling his gaze at the floor. "If I can't see everyone staring at me, I guess it's not so bad."

"No one's going to stare, Squall. They'll watch. I know you, you do things by instinct. There's no contest. You have nothing to prove to anyone. Just be yourself."

His shoulders hunched slightly in suggestion of a reluctant shrug, pulling his arms tighter against his body. "Whatever."

"Is that a 'maybe'?"

Squall's eyes grudgingly redirected, from the floor toward Rinoa's voice. "An hour, huh?"

"No longer than that. It's ten. Lights out at eleven. Will you go?"

He held his breath. _This is a mistake._ "Yeah," he released the air. "Yeah, fine, I'll go." He unfolded his arms in an explosive motion that prevented Rinoa's enthusiastic embrace, and jabbed a finger in her face, so close to her nose, the Sorceress went momentarily cross-eyed. "But I'm not drinking a damn thing," he declared, his feral tone leaving no room for argument.

Rinoa blinked away her double-vision and batted his hand away. "Fair enough," she agreed brightly—too readily, Squall thought. She moved to hold him again, more gradually this time. He accepted the embrace, returned it—just as readily, he thought as well, his face twisting, the scowl breaking up into a skewed, cynical smirk. The Sorceress shifted in his grasp, freeing a hand to reach up and toy with his unruly hair, smoothing a few strands behind his ear. "Would you like some help remembering the steps? Just in case," she added, a mischievous note to her offer.

He accepted with another sigh and a shallow nod. "I have a feeling I'm going to need it," he agreed wearily, his softening smirk not _quite _deteriorating to a smile.

Her touch at his ear became a light, beckoning grasp. "I believe in you, you know. You'll have a great time, Squall," she murmured.

"I _hate _it when you say that." With this last token objection, he relented to her pull, giving up all pretenses of resistance.

* * *

"They're late."

"So? That doesn't mean they're not coming."

"No way," the rookie SeeD barked, leaning casually back against the guard rail barring a fifty-foot drop into the shallow waters of Balamb Garden's main floor. "Squall's _never _late." The tanned, brutish fellow tilted his head imperiously, aiming the blades of his bleached, spiny shock of hair at his conversational opponent. "Mission failed, I'm telling you."

On the opposite end of the walkway, propped similarly against the wall, a short, pale woman with dark curls and darker eyes, glared levelly across at the arrogant youngster. "We've put too much work into planning this party to have it fail. Work and _money. _Rinoa knows that. She'll get him down here one way or another."

"You've seen the way he acts. He wouldn't go to a party if someone paid him. Nothing short of an executive order would get him down here, and there's really no one above him to give him one."

"I think Rinoa qualifies."

"I don't think so. He's an insensitive bastard."

"Look who's talking. Watch what you say, Buff Boy."

Nida stood silently in the center of the hallway, hands clasped in front of him, his eyes flicking from side to side like ping-pong balls as the two younger SeeDs continued their verbal sparring match. He refrained from interjecting, lest he get himself run through by a flying, sharp retort. He waited patiently for the sound of the elevator's arrival, listening only half-heartedly to the heated debate around him. Or, at least, he tried to ignore it.

"They've been trying for five years," said the short, female SeeD. "I think Rinoa's finally got it this time, though."

The big jock snorted and let loose a deprecating hee-haw. "You make it sound like she's pregnant."

Nida groaned, winced, and cast a pointedly disinterested look at the nearby wall, speaking for the first time since the argument had started. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

The jock blinked, startled. He looked at Nida as if realizing for the first time the veteran SeeD was present. "Why?" he asked, more to cover up his surprise than anything else. "It's true."

Nida's eyebrows shot up. "What is?"

"It's Squall," the short SeeD clarified, arrowing a disdainful glance at her irreverent rival. "Every year they try to get him drunk on his birthday. Hasn't happened yet. I don't think it ever will, either, short of holding him down and forcing a tube down his throat."

"What makes you say that?" The jock SeeD jumped to object. "I've seen him drink before."

"Not enough to get himself plastered, though. At least, not that anyone alive cares to recall. He's too shrewd."

Nida looked up, the choir-like hum of a moving elevator alerting him to the imminent arrival of their subject. Sure enough, the doors opened to admit the SeeD commander, followed immediately by Rinoa. "Here's they come."

The short SeeD smiled triumphantly at the tall one, who, unfazed, quickly made to cut his losses in favor of the next contention. "I'd put money on tonight," he said quickly, keeping his voice down. "It's the twenty-third, and it's his twenty-third birthday. Once in a lifetime thing. Besides, have you ever known Rinoa to give up? I mean, hey, look at those two. Match made in heaven my butt. They're living proof anything's possible—"

"Get to the point," hissed the short SeeD, "they're coming."

"Five of my GF cards of your choice, or I raid your deck for five." The jock was whispering now, the guests turning the corner only a few meters away. "Squall is drop-dead drunk by the end of the party."

"Sounds fair. You're on."

Their time for chatter elapsed, the dueling SeeDs looked pointedly at Nida, who nodded cordially to both of them, as he'd been instructed to do. As per their "duties," the two took off down the hall at a fast walk, looking very much as they had something of paramount importance to do.

Leaving Nida to do the talking. "Hey Squall," he greeted the ranking SeeD pleasantly. "Happy Birthday." He continued to stand in the middle of the hall—not really blocking the way, but making certain that getting past him would require a change of course for the approaching pair.

Holding Squall's arm, Rinoa stopped before the one-man welcome committee. "Hi Nida."

Squall frowned, inclining his head after the two retreating SeeDs. "Those your forerunners?"

"Sorry, Squall," said Nida. "We weren't quite sure you were going to come at all. Decided not to start anything until we saw you were on your way."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Squall had the distinct impression he was being purposely detained. "I hope the rest of the party is as enthusiastic as you are. Let's get this over with." He moved around Nida's roadblock and continued down the hall, Rinoa stumbling to catch up with a pace that was apparently too fast for her liking.

Rinoa cast a quick, nervous glance at Nida, who kept a straight face, offering only a reassuring nod.

* * *

It wasn't quite half the size of the Garden Ballroom, but with all the console desks removed, classroom C7—the largest classroom in Balamb Garden and second only in size to Galbadia Garden's infamous auditorium—had more than enough floor space to throw one heck of a party.

As far as Squall could tell, it was empty.

The lights were off. Not a sound—of breath, or shuffling feet—emanated from the deep darkness. It was as though he'd come to the wrong classroom. But he did not think so, not for a moment. Nida would have said something. Rinoa would have. So, instead, he walked casually through the starlit entrance, sliding his hand along the doorframe as he did. And he did not startle, nor was he surprised one bit when the giant classroom erupted with the flick of a lightswitch and the tremendous roar of every SeeD in Balamb Garden.

**_ "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SQUALL!"_**

Squall stopped walking, scanning the booming panorama of hoots and shouts and ruffs and whistles. He took a breath, releasing it slowly, feeling a sense of relief that, this time around, no one had seen fit to assault him bodily with hugs or crazy paint—at least, not yet.

Rinoa came in behind him, grinning at Zell, who had been given the honor of flipping the lights.

"How'd it go?" he asked, vaulting over a condiments table to reach the Sorceress, the better to hear her over the din.

"So far, so good." She gestured at Squall, who presently had his back turned, and was looking somewhat uncomfortable as the crowd began to chant—

"Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech!"

Rinoa started to go to Squall's rescue, but for a hand on her shoulder—she spun around to find herself face to face with Selphie Tilmitt.

Selphie giggled and put her finger to her lips. "Shhh! Don't worry! Zell's on it!"

She pointed, Rinoa following her finger to where Zell had stolen the stage, drawing the assembled SeeDs' attention and quieting the ruckus—somewhat. "Aw, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, guys, don't do this. We all know Squall isn't exactly a fan of impov…"

While Zell created a distraction, Rinoa returned her attention to Selphie. "I didn't know you were going to be here," she whispered. "I thought you were at Trabia—"

"Are you kidding? And miss _this?!_"

"So for _this _party, Squall," Zell was saying, turning amicably to his commander and friend, "we really are going to make sure you like it. Which means, you can stand on the wall the _whole time, _and no one's gonna give you flack for it. You don't have to do _anything _you don't want to. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. It's _your _birthday, and you can do as you damn well please—" he turned to their audience. "Right?"

"RIGHT!"

"Wrong!" someone hooted, and was immediately fallen upon by a host of irate comrades who did not find his joke amusing.

"—_Right,_" Zell reiterated, once again addressing the resignedly mute Squall. "Just do whatever you want. You can leave now if you want to. We're just glad you came, man." Assorted calls of 'yeah' and various brief applause and hoots accompanied this proclamation.

Finally, Squall appeared to break out of whatever reverie he'd been trapped in. He swept the room in a quick, unseeing reappraisal, at last resting his attention on his self-appointed spokesman. Speaking for the first time, his stonewall expression condensed into a ruthless scowl as he stated coldly, "Sorry to disappoint you…"

Rinoa's whispered conversation with Selphie died instantly, as did all sound in the brightly decorated classroom. Every muscle in her body froze. For a moment, there were no eyes in the makeshift party room that were not fixed securely on Squall, who promptly turned on his heel and stalked towards the door.

Nida, still standing in the doorway, sighed morosely and moved out of his commander's way. Squall paused at the door, glancing halfway over his shoulder at the oft overlooked SeeD.

Squall reached out and pushed a button beside the frame. The door hissed shut.

"…but I'm staying," he concluded.

Uproarious cheers exploded in C7, and Squall's 23rd birthday party began full-swing.

* * *

The center of C7 had been turned into a dance floor. The classroom lights had been turned off in favor of portable rave lights and the giant display screen mounted high on the wall at the front of the room; it had been rigged to beam a kaleidoscope of psychedelic colors, instead of study material or tactical schematics. A juke stereo system had been hooked up to the powerful speakers that were built into the walls—speakers that normally droned announcements all day, yet proved surprisingly adept at blasting loud, large quantities of rock music. There were at least three Triple Triad tournaments being held in one corner of the room. A worn out old couch someone had dragged in from the instructor's lounge sat at the back of the room, sagging under the weight of more bodies than it was designed to support. The instructor's shelf and podium had been turned into an improvised stage, where partygoers took turns performing tricks and skits, each trying to get a higher decibel of laughter than his or her predecessor. A long table had been set up on the right side of the room, covered in all manner of foodstuffs—and, of course, there were drinks.

Squall hadn't touched a drop or crumb.

He stood to the side, predictably, back against the wall and arms folded across his chest, observing but not participating. True to Zell's word, no one had bothered him, save to offer an occasional "happy birthday." He'd given up saying "thanks" after the fifth or sixth such greeting, and acknowledged every subsequent one with a polite nod and silence.

He closed his eyes and listened to the excitement, trying to pick out each and every person in the room, where they were and what they were doing. It was a good exercise for him, a way of training himself to be more alert to his surroundings.

A dispute over rules broke out in the Triple Triad corner—not an uncommon occurrence among avid players. Three people laughed at once, one on the sofa, two near the stage, both outbursts aimed in the same direction; something amusing had happened on stage, and whatever it was, it had to do with the performer running rapidly in place. Two people perused the food table, one of them tall and probably male, given the heaviness of the steps and the space of time between them. The second person was smaller, but also most likely male; he edged down the table in sharp, aggressive movements, dragging his feet, treaded sneakers squeaking and hissing air out across the floor. Squall knew few women in Garden who wore air pumped shoes, and even fewer who dragged their feet. A cough from the foot-dragger confirmed his suspicion. No one was dancing at the moment. There were people talking everywhere.

He tried to locate people he knew particularly well. Nida was one of the card players, and by the sound of it, he was losing more than he was winning. Selphie was engaged in the stage antics at the front. Oddly, he could not locate Zell, which either meant the spunky SeeD was no longer in the room or had his mouth too stuffed with food to speak. Quistis was absent, away on an assignment. Irvine, too—odd, but as Squall understood it, only SeeDs had been invited to this occasion, so perhaps he had not been included. All the better, Squall supposed, imagining the shameless sharpshooter's probable behavior among the single female patrons. Of course, Rinoa had been an exception to that rule.

Near the door, Rinoa was fending off Xu's questions as to the nature of Squall's uncharacteristic tardiness.

"He was being difficult," she insisted evasively. "It took me a while to convince him."

Xu, standing to Rinoa's right, chuckled quietly. "I imagine it did."

"Are you suggesting something?" the Sorceress' voice shot back fake indignity.

"Me? Like what?"

Laughter followed; Squall assumed Rinoa had made a face.

The shorter male footsteps moved from the food table to the chatting women. "Wuz gun on?" asked Zell with his mouth full. There was a pause as Xu and Rinoa waited for him to chew his food, lest they have to see it again.

"I was just thanking Rinoa for all her _hard work _in convincing Squall to come." A sharp _snap_ of someone hitting someone else on the arm, the subsequent brush of the victim rubbing the injury.

"Don't thank me," said Rinoa, meaning it. "He almost didn't."

Zell's voice panned in volume and location; he looked over his shoulder in Squall's direction as he talked. "Are you sure he can handle this?"

"He can do it," Rinoa assured him through clenched teeth. "…trust me."

"Is he gonna hate us for the rest of his life tomorrow?"

A sigh; Squall could imagine the Sorceress rolling her eyes. "I don't know, Zell," was her dry non-answer, "why don't you ask _him?_"

"'Cuz I _know _better." A dramatic pause. Squall wondered if the three were looking at him. "'Sides," Zell went on, and it did not appear that she was facing Squall's direction now, "we promised the guy we'd leave 'im alone, right?"

"Promised not to get on his back," Xu corrected. "No one ever said they wouldn't talk to him."

"What the heck would I say? You know what he did the _last _time I tried that? Never bothered, since."

"I meant to thank you for that," Rinoa blurted.

"For what?"

"Never mind…"

The conversation was interrupted as someone excused themselves between the trio. A brush and a click was audible, the tall person in an obvious hurry, bumping into people to get across the room, not rudely, but eagerly, afraid of missing out on something that was taking place elsewhere. The chatting resumed with the person's passing.

"So what do you think?" Xu again. "Is he enjoying himself?"

There was another long pause.

"Can't tell. At least he doesn't look ticked off or anything…I don't _think_…I dunno, who can tell anything with him?"

"Rinoa?"

"What—?" Her tone was startled; apparently she hadn't been listening to either companion.

"Do you think Squall's doing okay?" Zell rephrased Xu's question. "He looks like he's fallin' asleep."

"I think he's just listening."

"To what? The music?"

"Anything. He could be listening to us for all I know. Um," she sounded nervous, suddenly. "Why don't I go talk to him?"

"'S your skin." Zell took an audible bite out of a pretzel stick and stepped out of Rinoa's way.

Squall opened his eyes as her familiar footsteps approached. He let his arms down, pressing against the wall as if he could back any further into it. He regarded his visitor with calm wariness. "Problem?" he asked her.

She slowed warily as she came near. "Why would you think that?"

"…You came walking up kind of fast." It wasn't really a lie.

"I just remembered, you haven't eaten since breakfast, have you?" Squall shook his head. "Are you hungry? None of the food is spiked," she added quickly, smiling. "I promise."

He looked toward the table. "I wasn't thinking about it. I guess so."

"What do you want? I'll get you something."

"Forget it." Smirking, he pushed away from the wall. "I'll get it myself. I don't trust you."

"I was trying to be nice."

"I know." He brushed past her, not too quickly, giving her the opportunity to fall in beside him, a chance she seized. "That's why."

"Cynic."

He chose his plate judiciously, though his mind was not on the task; despite Rinoa's claim, he made a point to smell anything that might have something _unusual _cooked into it before he accepted it. Even the hotdogs were suspect.

But it was a mindless scrutiny. He was more preoccupied with what he'd overheard during Rinoa's conversation with Xu and Zell. Something about it did not sit right with him. Not the conversation itself, so much as something he'd heard meanwhile. Rinoa's unusual silence at his side, as well, was bothering him. "Who was that person pushing through the crowd a minute ago?" he asked, breaking away from the table and thus avoiding the drink selections, his plate half-covered and likely to stay that way.

"I'm not sure." She did not sound concerned. "I didn't really look. Why?"

"Just asking." Returning to his outpost on the wall, Squall chewed on a chicken wing, not really hungry for anything anymore. "What's on your mind? You keep following me around."

This time there was an admission. "…There's a particular song coming up in a few minutes."

A _clack _as Squall roughly dropped the bare chicken bones back onto his plate. His ambiguous unease turned suddenly into very definable apprehension. He slouched a little against the wall, "You've been waiting all day to do this to me." He declared it with calm certainty, amusement plain on his face—in a way only Squall could show amusement, without breaking a scowl.

"Not that I didn't warn you." She had on her guilty look—hands clasped behind her back, one set of toes hiding behind the heel of the other foot. "You said yourself it wouldn't be so bad."

"I didn't say I'd do it. It'd better not be some sappy love song."

"It's—"

A raucous shout prevented Squall and Rinoa's impending ideological joust. Zell had disengaged himself from his talk with Xu, and was trying—without much success—to find his way around a number of taller people to reach them, calling out as he fumbled for footspace. "Rinoa! Did it work?!"

Rinoa cringed.

Squall's scowl deepened. "Did _what _work?"

Zell finally managed to break through the throng of tall people. His wide grin failed, however, at the sight of Squall's withering expression, and the fact Rinoa looked increasingly likely to wallop him with every passing second.

"Did _what _work?" Squall repeated.

Rinoa balled her fists at her sides. "Zell, can't you keep your big mouth for _one hour?_"

Zell held his hands up in surrender. "Sor-ry! I just saw 'im eat it and I thought—"

"I _told _you, I didn't think it would."

Squall looked down at his plate. "What did you put in this?"

"_Nothing!_" Rinoa spat the answer as if he'd asked it for the hundredth time, grabbed Zell by the shoulder and dragged him down to where she could hiss in his ear. "_Did _you?"

"Huh?" With effort, Zell shook free of her iron grip, rubbing his shoulder. "No, I—waitaminute, I thought…" He stood staring blankly, from Rinoa, then to Squall (who was still staring through his plate), then back to Rinoa again with a stomp of his foot. "I just asked if the chicken worked!"

"I told you I wasn't going to bother. He picked it up by himself. And since you asked, no, it didn't work."

"What did you put in this?" Squall asked again.

"The hell…" Zell turned a wide-eyed, spooked look on Squall. "You mean it really doesn't get to him?"

"I told you it wouldn't." Rinoa put her hands on her hips.

"…Well, _damn._"

Finally looking away from his plate for a moment, Squall tossed a feral sneer at Zell. Come to think of it, he had noticed the serving plate for the chicken wings had seemed relatively untouched. "What did you do," he growled, "spit on it?"

Zell reeled on his heels as if the words had struck him a physical blow, bumping into someone behind him. Offering a quick apology to the victim, he hurried to protect himself from any more accusations, his defense punctuated with nervous laughter. "No-h-ho—! Why is everybody blaming me for stuff? It wasn't _my _idea."

The growl rose to a snarl. "_What _wasn't your idea?" A small crowd was gathering to watch the unfolding drama.

"The _chicken _wasn't. …W-well, okay, so it was, but I _asked _first!"

"What did you _do _to the chicken?!"

Zell finally broke. "I didn't do _anything _to the frickin' _chicken!_ It's the wings, they're _hot _wings, man! We're talkin' _Ifrit-with-a-hernia-on-acid STEALTH _sauce, here. You can't smell it, but it's like bomb juice on steroids. …I dumped it all over 'em."

Save for the thumping of dance music, the entire room was now silent. Rinoa folded her arms, a sour look on her face. Zell cast about for some help, in case Squall decided to violently punish him for his transgressions; no one offered any encouragement. Except, perhaps, Xu, who held up her cup of punch in a silent toast to Zell's loud mouth. She drained the remainder of the drink.

Squall's next question was directed at Rinoa. "What _is _there to drink here, anyway?"

"Doesn't matter," she answered crossly. "Everything's alcoholic. Zell told everybody that if they wanted something else, they'd have to bring it themselves. Xu and I both told him it wouldn't work—spicy stuff has never bothered you."

The sound of Xu crumpling her plastic cup was audible even above the music.

_"Bus-ted,"_ someone whispered.

Together with a hard, dead stare, Squall began to nod his head, ever so slightly, over and over again, as if he'd reached a quiet decision. It all made sense, now. _And, _he could not help thinking, _it might have worked._ For all his paranoia, he'd _fallen _for it—he hadn't been dragged into it. He picked up the chicken bones, sniffed them one more time. Nothing. He would never have known. He raised an eyebrow at Zell, a hint of a smirk cracking the edge of his lips.

Squall meant what he said: "…Nice try."

There were many sighs of relief, some laughter, and a few scattered groans of disappointment that the plan had failed. Rinoa exchanged wicked smiles with Xu. Zell slumped in place, feeling as though he'd just escaped certain doom.

Cards and Gil changed hands. The party continued. Ten minutes left to go.

No one was wasting it. Zell made a quick getaway, excusing himself to the other end of the room, joining the audience, putting Selphie and every other SeeD he could between himself and a viciously smirking Squall.

Squall continued to stare distantly as the melting throng resumed its regular flow. He felt odd, rather as he'd been drugged, though he doubted it was a result of anything Zell had poured on a single chicken wing. It was a natural sensation, which was what made it so strange in the first place. Once, he'd hated the sensation, feared it more than any other, for it was dangerous; it made him feel blurred around the edges, slightly off-balance, not totally rational, not able to fully trust himself. Not too far from drunkenness, save for the fact he could still think clearly, move quickly, react decisively. The effects of the sensation were more conceptual than physical—_what _he thought, _why _he moved, _how _he reacted. He was used to feeling like this in Rinoa's presence; when it was just the two of them alone, it was easy to feel. He'd learned, over time, that it was all right to feel this way when he was with her, when it was only her. Even when he couldn't trust himself, he could trust her. But he was hesitant to allow it to grip him in a room filled with so many people, some he knew well, most only as officers under his command. It was like temptation, beckoning, seductive…he was not sure if he should feel it in a situation like this.

Contentment. He felt _comfortable_. He wondered how it had happened.

Rinoa tapped his plate. "Are you done with that?"

Broken from his muse, Squall gestured vaguely at the trash can behind her and handed it to her to throw away. "I don't wanna know what he put in the rest of the food."

"Good," she declared, carelessly tossing the paper plate and untouched foodstuffs into the garbage, "because this next song is ours."

"_'Ours?'" _He pressed his back against the wall again, trying to secure his wariness. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that if you're going to dance, you've got to do it now."

Squall cocked an ear at the ascending melody, thinking it sounded a little too slap-happy for his tastes. "Why this one?"

"Because it's the last one."

Squall took a deep breath, briefly considering taking his leave then and there. Contentment warred with resentment for the circumstances. Rinoa watched him patiently.

He did not leave. As easy as it would have been, he'd made the choice to stay. He wasn't one not to follow through with his choices.

"So, will you?" asked Rinoa gently. She did not want to push him; but if she said nothing, it would give him an excuse to answer by not answering. "I won't drag you out this time."

He folded his arms. "I'm thinking."

She smiled. "You admitted it was fun."

"I didn't say that."

"You implied it—what else could you have meant?"

"I…" He paused, trying to remember what it was he'd actually said. "…I said I might not have a problem participating."

"So if there's no problem…?"

"I didn't say I'd just do it."

"If I asked you?" The current song cross-faded into the next; Rinoa reached out and found Squall's hand, buried though it was in the crook of his elbow. "…Dance with me?"

He felt her gentle grasp, and with a sigh took her questing hand, letting his arms down. He supposed he'd trapped himself in this case—whether intentionally or not, he hadn't the luxury of deciding just now. He had not lied; there were many things about parties he did not find at all appealing. The noise, the bad music, the close press of bodies, the pointless binge drinking, the stupid games—all fine for everyone else, but he had no interest in them. But dancing, he understood, on a visceral level. It was pattern and motion, precise physical actions, a concept he was very familiar with—was quite good at, for that matter. He did not mind it. Between Rinoa's affinity for it and his natural skill, he supposed he even enjoyed it to a degree. "…I guess I don't have a good reason to say no," he concluded, smirk fading into resignation, not a smile, but his excuse for one: a softening of his constant scowl. He no longer looked dangerous. He let Rinoa lead him—without resistance—to the rectangular dance floor.

Only then did he recognize the song—and, internally, cringed. "You're not _serious._" He stopped letting her lead him, but it was too late. They reached the center of the floor; people were turning, pointing, stopping what they were doing and assembling to watch.

"Why not?" Rinoa turned to face her partner. "It's not hard to dance to."

"It's a _stupid _song. Whose idea was this?"

"Shannon suggested it. I thought it was a good idea."

"I was supposed to be drunk by now, wasn't I?" _Maybe it would've been easier if I was._

"He thought you would be."

"Remind me to kill him when I get back…"

It was an up-tempo, island dance tune, one Squall had heard too many times—so, of course, he knew it by heart, whether he'd meant to memorize it or not. He also knew the dance that normally accompanied it. His vexed expression declared beyond doubt he would not, under any circumstances, perform it.

Rinoa did not argue. She took his hand again, stepping a pace away from him.

Squall didn't have to see the dozens of sets of eyes on him to feel the stares. _This isn't something I do for fun, _he reminded himself silently, _not _because he cared, of course. _Just because I know how. _

Rinoa squeezed his hand. "Choreography, remember? It's an exercise. Forget them. Try to keep your eyes on me." Her smile crooked at the little joke.

"Doing my best," he muttered. He stood straighter, tracked the music for a few more beats. Putting the stares to the back of his mind, he focused on the task at hand, and what was required to accomplish it. They started with the formal steps they were known for: Left, right, around; let go, slide, turn left, again, three times, four, join hands, concentrating on the rhythm, ignoring the incongruous words:

_-Come on, shake your feathers baby  
,__do the Choco  
__Keep your body movin' till you go loco…-_

Squall became the lead once again, caught Rinoa as she spun in close, then pushed away, brought her back, caught her again. It was a little faster than he was used to, but the steps were simple, formula; he'd been taught formal dances in his classman years. They'd seemed like mindless exercises at the time, something he had learned because he was required to learn it. The concept of the dance was not so much in the steps alone, he'd learned, as the theory of motion and time. Change and measurement. He was used to counting things; counting steps, breaths, words, seconds. Everything had a pattern to it, and every pattern repeated itself in predictable rhythm. Memorizing patterns meant memorizing life. Dancing was all about patterns. It was a language he found simple to understand.

Not all that different from martial arts—and easy enough to combine the two.

They came together from the last spin, but here the dance changed. They did not touch. Instead, they stopped not an inch from each other, hands raised as if in a defensive block to mirror blows, arms crossed between them. The music changed, merged with a rap bridge, and so, abruptly, continued the dance. It was something between a high-speed ballet and a slow-motion stage fight. Squall was the lead—the 'aggressor'—setting the pace and guiding the progress of the act, Rinoa his reactionary opponent. He stepped in, fluid and swift, but easy to follow; she moved around him like a serpent, catching his "strikes." Trading sides of the dance floor was a seamless transition: Join hands, slide, switch positions, turn, attack and counter.

There were few moments they were separated; he kept track of her by touch, reading her motion like a string of signals. Her shoulders would swing to the left before the rest of her; he would be ready to catch her wrist or step out of the way of her spin. The scrape of his heel betrayed his advance; she side-stepped him, slid around him, made as if to trip him. His boot halted at her ankle, saving him from the fall; he caught her hand at his side, spun her under his arm, pulled her back against him and trapped her in a chokehold.

_-Don't let this one get away.-_

For a split second, his face broke and he flashed a tight, mute smile before releasing his captive—_that _maneuver, he had enjoyed.

_-Better get yourself together  
__and hold on cuz' here we go…-_

They switched places again. Not oblivious to Squall's moment of amusement, Rinoa pressed the dance assault this time. He switched to the defensive, blocking an attempted lunge into his arms by catching her, spinning, letting go with one hand; she crouched as she slid back a few paces, arm still extended. He pulled her back to her feet. She twirled past him, letting her momentum swing him to the side, to the edge of the dance floor, backing him up to the crowd. She made her move, stepping in once again as if to embrace him by the shoulders. He confidently intercepted her hands, pulling her forward and folding their arms in a double **X **between them as they came together.

Squall did not realize he had allowed himself to be trapped. Her arms immobilized, Rinoa leaned over them, stood on her tiptoes, and before he could object, landed a quick kiss on his nose.

_-Wait a minute-_  
  
He froze, blinked. Rinoa smiled  
  
._-Kick it!-_  
  
Their audiencehooted and howled. Squall felt heat rush to his face. Disarmed, he lost pace with the music. He waited, locked up with her on the edge of the dance floor, until the cheering died down, his expression fading slowly from a stunned, blank stare to a composed, thoughtful half-smirk, half-scowl. "That wasn't fair," he stated flatly. There was scattered laughter from the crowd. The Sorceress shrugged gently, innocently. "In love and war..." The forced scowl faltering, he shook his head at her as the last song faded out. "You're impossible." As if on cue, the curfew tone began to toll throughout the Garden. The hour was over. It was eleven PM. Lights out. The partygoers, still carrying on, began to file out of the classroom, leaving their mess behind to be cleared in the morning, a few shouting last-minute birthday wishes to the life of the party. Ignoring them all, Squall eased his grip on Rinoa's hands, edging away from the noisy crowd, which nevertheless seemed to be making a point of giving him space.

Rinoa waited until the majority had left, watching Squall's face, trying to read something in the vague, pensive eyes. "So…" She freed one of her hands, pressing her palm against his chest, pulling back a little, as it to see him better in the waning moonlight as the party illuminations shut off one by one. "Did you have fun?"

It took him a long time to admit it. "…Against my will." He was silent for a moment, holding his breath, waiting for something. "…You mean it's really over?" he asked at length. "That's it? No more surprises?"

* * *

Every back was turned to the high, broad window of classroom C7. No one saw the cloaked shadow blot out the stars as it climbed into place on the sill. It held something long in one hand. After settling into its perch, the figure aimed its deadly instrument carefully, at a point just over and beyond the shoulder of the isolated SeeD commander.

A number of things happened at once. The last party guest disappeared from classroom C7. Every particularly power-consuming light in Garden shut off, thrusting the SeeD base into near-total darkness.

"Happy Birthday," murmured the shadow voicelessly as the Garden's final lights-out warning tolled.

There was a sharp _crack._

Rinoa did not have the chance to answer.

* * *

Squall wasn't sure whether he'd really heard it; the soft, whispered scraping of metal on metal, quiet and sinister as a spider on a window pane. He wasn't sure it was real, but what he thought he heard, his brain recognized what his conscious mind was not fast enough to: the sound of a trigger being squeezed.

He wasn't sure he'd heard it, but he was already in motion, an explosion of reflex, bowling into Rinoa and nearly knocking her to the floor. He new less than a fraction of a second later that the sound had been real—as was evidenced by the hot, fiery pain that exploded in his left shoulder. He stumbled, clutching his Sorceress. Not strong enough to hold both his weight and his momentum, Rinoa's legs buckled, and they both went tumbling to the dance floor.

Squall heard and felt a succession of magical fields surround him, some of them his own, some of them cast by Rinoa, protecting them both from any subsequent assaults. Quickly untangling himself from Rinoa, he flipped to his feet, keeping her shielded from the window even as he spun on his heel to face it. "What…"

Rinoa stood up almost as swiftly, frantically scanning the window. "I don't see anyone," she declared, though she sounded nervous. "Are you alright?"

"I'm _fine,_" he snapped, closing his eyes, listening as he had a short time ago on the wall, trying to pick out something—anything—that might pinpoint the location of the would-be assassin.

He swore suddenly, forgetting the assassin, clutching his injured shoulder. It throbbed beneath the jacket. He felt a peculiar, burning heat spreading down his arm.

_Damn! _He swayed a little as he realized he was not fine. The heat and a peculiar half-numbness in his arm was getting worse, the sensation spreading quickly throughout his body. _Must have hit an artery, _he thought, though oddly, he felt no telltale wetness trailing down his arm that would have betrayed such an injury.

He began to feel slightly off-balance. Desperately, he tried to bring some spell to mind, some healing paramagic. But his mind was muddled. He could not concentrate. The throbbing in his arm was not as strong, not that the pain was lessening, but rather as if it had been deadened somehow. He felt hot, suddenly, as if the temperature in the room had skyrocketed a number of degrees. Dazedly, he turned to face Rinoa, confused; if the bullet had struck an artery, if he was losing blood this quickly, why was he still standing? Why wasn't his sleeve soaked? Why couldn't he…

Where was Rinoa?

He stood alone in the room, still clutching his arm, breathing hard. "Rinoa…?"

No answer. He called her name again, shouting it this time. Nothing.

_Where did she go? What's happening? Damn it, why can't I concentrate! _He felt out of breath, getting dizzier by the second. Awkwardly, he stumbled to the door, leaning on the frame to catch his breath and reorient himself. He was perspiring more than he should, he noted as he pushed a wave of copper hair out of his face. _"Rinoa!_" he blared at the top of his lungs. The word felt thick in his mouth, difficult to say, much as he wanted to scream it. His lips felt numb, swollen.

His feverish, clouded mind finally connected his symptoms with a diagnosis. He felt a shiver trail down his spine as he gripped his arm again, though it did not really hurt anymore. The bullet had not been meant to kill. It was only the conveyor of an agent. It explained his sluggish mind, his dizziness, his lack of fine motor control.

He wasn't dying. He was drugged.

Squaring his jaw, he resolved to fight whatever venom was in his system. Something terrible was happening. Rinoa was missing. They'd been attacked. Someone had to raise an alarm.

Someone. But who? Where was everyone? _Anyone?_ He took an unsteady step out into the hallway. There was no one. Not in C7, not in the hall. He paused, put his hand against the wall, trying to listen, concentrate…

**_{Today is the day…}_**

The words hit him like a brick to the head, sending him reeling. He almst fell. The voice seemed to come from everywhere—inside his head or all around him, Squall couldn't be sure. He slammed his eyes shut against the booming, so loud it felt as if it might split his skull. "_What the hell's going on?!" _he roared.

The voice continued speaking as if it had not heard him. **_{A very special day, indeed!}_**

****_That voice…I know it. _Squall put a hand to his scarred, sweating forehead. _Where…? _He wrestled viciously with the fog obscuring his cognizance. He did know the voice, and the recollection sent more chills through him, but he could not match a name to it. It was dark, otherworldly…a Guardian Force! Yes, that was it.

But…which one?

Using the wall to keep his balance and find his way, he swaggered through the pitch black hallway, heading for the elevator, wondering all the while where everyone had gone—to his vacant gaze, the Garden was empty, eerily silent. It was as if everyone inside the construct had been whisked away by some magic spell. Everyone except him.

But he wasn't alone. Something was here. Something had taken Rinoa and everyone else. Squall called out to her with his mind, but no answer came.

He had to get to his quarters, had to get his weapon. Or…maybe he should go to the bridge, he thought, see if anyone was there. No…_what's the regulation for this?_ He made it to the elevator, mashed the down button.

**_{Where are you going, birthday boy? The party's not over, yet!} _**came the voice again, mocking him as he waited. He sneered at the tone. It reminded him of something Seifer would say. The elevator bell dinged, the door slid open, and Squall lurched into the car. He had a little trouble finding the ground floor button, but managed it after a few seconds.

_"Who're you?" _he growled hotly at the disembodied voice as the elevator dropped, nearly causing him to loose his footing again.

The voice did not answer right away. It waited until the elevator had reached level 1. It ripped through the air as the doors slid open to admit Squall, booming menacingly in his temples as he stumbled out into the vast Garden lobby. **_{Face my wrath for seeking thy sealed Sorceress…} _**

Squall's eyes widened, he recognized the voice at last—a voice he thought he'd heard the last of. He tried to get it past his lips. "T…Tiamat. Sealed…Rinoa! You, you've got …got 'er." He shook his head to clear it, but it only served to make him more disoriented. He could not think straight, could not even speak clearly. Who had done this to him? Who had summoned this long-buried forbidden Guardian? Where was it? Where was everyone? _What the hell is going on!_

**_{The boy is good with trivia,} _**Tiamat's lilting, mocking purr affirmed his slurred supposition.**_ {Want to see what you've won?}_**

****_See? _Squall thought bitterly as he stumbled across the darkened lobby. _What are you talking about? _"I can't see a damn—"

_Squall! _

It was Rinoa's voice, slicing through the fog of his mind. She was calling to him, but he could not see her, could not tell where she was. All he knew was that she was trapped and frightened. He felt a fresh rush a heat surge through his blood—anger, this time. "What've you done wi—"

He took one too many steps forward. Too far away from the railing to catch himself, Squall stepped over the edge of the elevator platform and fell head over heels down the stairs to the main level of the lobby. Evil, guttural laughter ricocheted about the empty dome as the bruised, discombobulated commander slowly, silently pushed himself up off the floor.

**_{What's the matter, Squall? Can't hold your party liquor? How pathetic! You'll be an easy kill. Come, mighty leader of SeeD. Come get your birthday present!}_**

A thundering crash and the tinkling of shattered glass above him prompted Squall to duck and cover his head. Safety glass rained down on him not moments later, drumming on his jacket, collecting at the back of his collar, stinging his knuckles with tiny cuts. A hissing, ear-splitting shriek speared his eardrums. He heard the beast before it became visible within the shadows of the roof.

Ruby eyes snapped open with metallic _clicks, _beaming malevolent, blood red light that illuminated the huge form clinging to the top of the elevator chute. A dragon of midnight blue and gilded black, hung from a gaping hole in the domed ceiling like a giant demon bat, its bladed wings crooked in a half-furl as if preparing to take flight, long tapering tail lashing back and forth like an angry cat's.

Trailing glass pieces, Squall pushed himself to his feet and backed away a few paces, taking a ready stance as the dark Guardian crawled like a freakish lizard down the pillar of Garden's core, scythe-like talons tearing great rips in the decorated metal. Fifty feet from the base, the dragon tensed and leaped, spread its wings and glided, setting down heavily only a few meters from Squall and scattering fragments of the flooring with the impact.

Squall felt adrenaline wind its way through his veins, warring with the poison. He stood a little more steadily, but he still could not focus—thoughts of calling an army of Guardian Forces to his aid fell at the feet of his inability to concentrate to summon even one of them. He swayed as the floor beneath him rocked, warped by the force of the dragon's landing. The mist in his mind became slightly more transparent, his heart racing to burn it away as Tiamat stood before him, wings spread.

_Squall, where are you!_

Squall's sweaty hands balled into enraged fists.

Tiamat stalked forward, looming over the target, attempting to slowly force him back into the exit archway. **_{Your lover calls from her prison, Knight! Scum of Bahamut, my nemesis,} _**The dragon snapped its jaws viciously as it said the name. **_{With his junctioner dead, I and mine will be free to sweep this world free of our enemies!}_**

Squall squinted, trying not to give any more ground than he had to. He had the beginnings of a spell in mind, if only he could buy enough time to concentrate… "You 're…someone summ'nd you. Who…who's that? Who—"

**_{What does it matter?!} _**The dragon shrieked, lunged, snapping at Squall with its razor-sharp beak.

Squall dodged half-successfully, missing the beast's fangs but taking the brunt of the subsequent backswing of the muzzle; Tiamat's nose caught him squarely in his injured shoulder and sent him reeling to the floor, the angle of the blow flipping him onto his stomach as he landed, knocking the wind from his lungs. The only thing that saved him from broken bones was the protective shield Rinoa had cast on him earlier.

**_{Alas,}_** grumbled the dark drake, **_{I can't kill you, nor your vile Sorceress, unless I am summoned to, or forced to defend myself. So are the foolish laws of the Guardians. But I can…_hurt _you…} _**

A tortured scream rang in Squall's mind, freezing his envenomed blood.

**_{The screams will continue until you fight me, pathetic wretch—to the death!}_**

Squall's brow knit in a flushed, furious scowl, ignoring the ache in his arm and the pain in his lungs, he flipped around and, despite his dizziness, let his spell fly—in whatever direction it would. Tiamat was so close, it would be difficult to miss, and given the nature of the spell itself, whatever havoc it could as easily prove beneficial as a detriment. The ultima magic slammed into the evil Guardian's right wing, enveloping the appendage in destructive magical chaos.

Tiamat screamed and thrashed, shaking the burning wing as it was engulfed in deadly green flame. The dragon pulled its head back, mouth agape. Its armored chest heaved, inhaling deeply.**_ {You've drawn first blood, human. Your life is mine!}_**

Squall rose to a crouch, backed against a potted plant at the edge of the walkway. "You can't use your breath on me," he warned through lips that did not want to obey him, "You use th'… flare here, y'll, blow a hole in the floor. Right below us…'r the Garden's eng'ns…you damage those, this, _whole _place goes down…and your junksh, junkshiner goes with it."

**_{What makes you think I need to blow you up to kill you?}_**

_Squall, help me!_

Squall barely heard the dragon's metallic scales over Rinoa's scream as they scraped across the floor. Not sure enough on his feet to risk standing, he rolled wildly to the side, missing the swing of the dragon's whip-like tail, which crashed into the wall where Squall had once been, shattering the plant and its pot. A pattering sound come to him; something cold and wet splashed his face. The floor groaned beneath him.

Blindly, he scrambled backward, backing into the wall just inside the exit arch.

_Squall! _Her cries tore at his heart. They seemed to be getting weaker. _Squall… _But what could he do? He was trapped. It would take another minute or more to conjure another spell, and he would need much more than magic to defeat a Guardian so powerful as this. The intense, null-minded needed to summon his own Guardian was not an option at all. The dark emptiness of the Garden was closing in on his scrambled mind. He could not see, he could not stand, he could not think.

_Rinoa, I'm sorry! God damn it, I can't…_

Tiamat took another pace forward. Squall heard a splash.

The impact of the dragon's tail had cracked the wall separating dry tile from fountain water. Squall had not been imagining things when he'd felt the cold wetness sprinkle his face. Tiamat's footsteps confirmed what Squall could not see. The walkway was flooding.

Squall forced himself to stand, pulling himself up along the wall. His hand brushed a smooth, darkened panel. He froze. Tiamat cackled and moved in, certain its target was cornered.

_'You do things by instinct. You have nothing to prove to anyone. Just be yourself.'_

Squall started laughing.

The dragon stopped its advance, confused. The ruby eyes sneered quizzically at the SeeD, suspicious of his peculiar, sudden cacophony. Tiamat stood in the center of the flooding walkway, Squall continuing to laugh as if rip-roaring drunk, as if he'd relinquished his last tenuous grip on sanity, as though he'd just comprehended the greatest joke in the history of the cosmos. Had the SeeD commander lost his mind in the face of certain death? Annoyed, Tiamat growled, angry tail flinging water every which way as it lashed. **_{What is so damned funny?} _**demanded the dragon of its hysterical prey.

Squall kept right on laughing for a few seconds more, tears streaming down his cheeks, tremors rocking his drugged and fevered body. He sank against the wall that supported him.

Then his face sobered, his laughter ended instantly, as if shot dead. His expression turned grim, cold, pitiless—he stared directly at Tiamat's leering visage. His fist hit the Emergency Alert button on the map panel beside him. The lights came on all through the Garden, banishing the cruel darkness and sounding the alarms that would call every available SeeD to battle stations. With the power restored, the decorative lighting in the vast lobby river flared to life. Squall's snarled answer was slow, deliberate, and forced, but he made every syllable sound as clear as if he'd been perfectly sober.

"…Fifty-thousand volts, you ugly son of a bitch."

He released the spell he'd been trying to call throughout his diversionary laughter, feeding it directly from his fingertips into the panel behind him, a panel that was on the same power grid as the water lights. The surge of electricity raced through the lines, overloading every circuit that was not designed to handle the raw voltage. More than one of the underwater lights exploded, exposing the wires behind them to the conductive liquid.

Tiamat, now ankle-deep in water, opened fanged jaws to scream, but the current struck first, silencing any protests as it arced mercilessly through the dragon's metallic scales and armor. Caught not only in the first jolt of Squall's spell, but the continuing circuit of the Garden's own powerful electrical system, even the mighty Guardian force could not break free of the deadly charge. The angry eyes cast one last, baleful look upon the victor.

Squall backed away as he heard the ascending whine of a machine overloading, was knocked over and onto his back by the force of Tiamat's explosion.

He lay there, stunned. The Garden spun around him, alarms blaring. He heard the sound of footsteps, smelled something burning.

"Someone hit the circuit breaker! Let's get damage control in here!"

Suddenly he was surrounded by people, voices he recognized, SeeDs, other Garden personnel. They had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, from an empty Garden. Confused, dizzy, not sure which way was up anymore, he stirred weakly, biting back a groan that would have had more to do with the sick feeling in his gut than any real pain.

_What the hell?_

"—And someone shut that noise off!" It was Xu. She was right next to him. "Rinoa, hurry up and come take care of your boyfriend before he blows the _rest _of the Garden up in a drunken stupor. God, what a mess."

A lot of people were gathering around him at once, helping him to sit up. He cast around fuzzily. "What…Rinoa? He shrugged off his helpers, and promptly keeled over back onto the floor."

He heard her footsteps shoving through the crowd. "Squall!"

He looked up weakly, toward her voice. "R'noa…? What—"

"It's me." She knelt beside him, and with her help, he sat up again. "I'm okay. We're all fine. It's over."

She was holding his hand. He shook his head, uncomprehending. "Over? Is Tiamat…what's over?"

He heard Selphie's giggle behind him. "Your birthday party!"

"What's left of it," Xu added, walking up beside Rinoa. She folded her arms. "I'll give it to you straight, Squall, because I know that's what you want. You were just the butt of a 500,000 Gil practical joke. And you blew the lid off it, so to speak. Congratulations. You're the first SeeD in the history of mankind to fight a Galbadian attack robot—"

"Dressed up to look like Tiamat!" Selphie interjected.

"—dressed up to look like Tiamat," Xu affirmed, "and blow it to smithereens without using any magic, Guardian Forces or heavy artillery. And you did it drop-dead drunk, at that. I have to say I'm impressed, even if you did destroy half the lobby in the process."

Before Squall could have a chance to answer, Zell came running to join the growing circle, splashing across the now-harmless watered walkway. "_Dude!"_ he cried, skidding the last five feet and using Xu's shoulders to stop him, ignoring her irritated glare. "That was freakin' _awesome!_ I'd _never _thought of that, even if I was sober!"

"Shut up, Zell," Xu said coolly. "You're _not _sober."

"Well, _I _am," came a new voice, "and even I gotta say, that was _amazing._"

Squall stared blearily at the newcomer. He spoke for the first time in nearly two minutes. "…Irvine?"

Irvine adjusted his hat in greeting. "In the flesh." He balanced a long, strange-looking rifle on his shoulder. "Been a while, Squall. You're in top form. Sorry about that little prick on your arm, there. Shouldn't hurt too much."

Dumbfounded, Squall's hand went to his arm, fingering the bullet hole in his jacket. Suddenly he scowled, and leveled he expression at his friend. "Wait…you, sh—you _shot _me?" he demanded incredulously.

"Hey, that's what you get for not inviting me to your party." The sharpshooter basked in the laughter this evoked from the surrounding company. "It won't hurt'cha. A little dissolving pellet deal Kadowaki cooked up for us. A synthetic intoxicant. Has about the same effect as six or seven shots of vodka, but without the splitting headache in the morning."

"See," Rinoa offered, "you won't miss your mission."

"Hey Irv," Zell blurted, "can I try one of those things? Without the getting shot part?"

Squall was ignoring them, his mind still trying to accept what he had been told. Without realizing it, he found himself answering Rinoa's handhold with a near-deathgrip. "I…dun understand," he slurred, squinting and shaking his head. "Y'mean…I 's…you 're…never in any real danger?"

"Well," Xu answered, "not _mortal _danger, no."

Rinoa waited until Xu had finished to add, "It wasn't really a joke though…you've been saying for the past few months you were getting restless. You wanted a challenge."

Squall opened his mouth to object, but stopped, stared, thinking, remembering. Slowly, to the shock of all present, his coarse expression faded away, and a tiny, weary, wry smile graced his face for the barest of moments. "…I guess I did say that, didn't I?"

"Uh-ohhh." Selphie's ominous alarm halted any further banter. "Here he comes."

"What?" Squall shook his head, not following. "Who's coming?"

"'Tiamat,'" Irvine said dramatically, a hint of disdain in his tone. "The man at the controls."

"Y'mean the robot…who's—"

"Well, well, well." The new voice was masculine, deep, sure—mocking, and at the same time respectful in a strange way—and undeniably familiar. "…how the mighty have fallen. Squall, I'd never have thought it possible."

Squall's confused expression hardened immediately into a cold, sober scowl. "…Seifer." He refused to say anything more than the name, refused to dribble his words. _How did he get here? Was this all his idea?_ _I thought he was—_

"Brought you a present," Seifer paused, having trouble uttering the last word without sarcasm, "_Commander._ To celebrate your victory. And, your birthday, of course." He tossed something over Rinoa's head, what looked at first to be a white towel or cloth of some kind. "Made it for you myself."

It landed awkwardly in Squall's hands. He manipulated it for a moment, and with Rinoa's help, managed to make heads and tails of it—it was a shirt. Squall's scowl deepened. He blinked at it drunkenly. "What's it say?"

Rinoa giggled. Selphie followed suit. Squall heard Irvine and Zell attempt and fail to stifle their own chuckling.

"What's it _say?_" he demanded again.

Xu was the one to break, reading the bold black lettering aloud with more than a hint of amusement:

_"I was shot, poisoned,  
gnawed on by a GF,__  
slew a dragon and__  
wrecked a military base__  
to save my girlfriend—__  
all I got was this stupid T-shirt…"_

"Turn it around!" Selphie chirped. "It has something on the back, too."

Squall did so.

_"…and I did it  
**drunk and blindfolded."**_

"It has a little picture of Griever under the words on the back," Rinoa observed with a smile. She cast a surprised, sideways look at Seifer—only to find he was no longer standing where he had been.

Squall stared at the shirt blankly for a long moment. "I'm nev'r gonna wear this thing," he declared darkly.

"So what?" Squall started; Seifer's voice was right behind him. "Burn it, for all I care. But you _will _wear _this._"

Squall heard a pop, as of flattened paper being unfolded. Reflexively, with marvelous precision given his condition, he reached up and grabbed Seifer's wrist, preventing it from coming any closer. He growled over his shoulder. "…Don't even think 'bout it."

Seifer overpowered him long enough to smash the party hat atop the SeeD commander's head.

It wasn't there long, but long enough to draw giggles from their audience. "Get it off me, you moron," groused Squall, shaking his head and snatching the ludicrous hat from its lopsided perch on his temple. He crushed the offensive glitz in his hand. "Thought you said th' party's over."

"It is," said Xu, "and as I understand it, you have somewhere to be tomorrow. Better hurry up and sleep it off, Squall. It'll be midnight in thirty minutes."

With Rinoa and Irvine's help, Squall managed to stand, unsteadily, on his own. His head felt slightly less muddled than it had five minutes ago; apparently Kadowaki's concoction had a relatively short half-life. He allowed Rinoa to lead him through the press of SeeDs, tolerating their congratulations, thankful when he'd cleared them and the soaking robot wreckage, and was on his way back to his quarters—to quiet, to isolation, to _sleep. _

Two SeeDs in particular watched him go, watched him stumble once, watched Rinoa catch him. Watched as, reluctantly, he allowed her to take some of his weight to make the trip easier.

The Tall One turned to The Short One and demanded his GF cards back.

"Not a chance," the shorter one said. "I won fair and square."

"Bull," insisted the tall one. "I said Squall was drunk by the end of the party. Xu just called it. He _was._"

"Not of his own choice."

"I didn't say it had to be his choice."

"You implied it."

"Don't be a sore loser. Gimme my cards back, and we'll call it even. We both got surprised by Xu's orders," he added pointedly. "We didn't know this all would happen. There were extrenuating circumstances."

"Extenuating," the short one corrected.

"Besides," ranted the tall one, oblivious, "I think something a lot weirder happened tonight. Did you see that? Squall was laughing his butt off. I mean, even if it was fake, that's not something you see every day."

"You're digressing again. It was, however," the short one admitted, smiling, "pretty interesting to watch."

"You know what they say about the eleventh hour."

"Technically, it's the _twenty-third _hour…"

* * *

"…It was your idea, wasn't it?"

Squall walked with Rinoa through the dormitory hallways. The lights were off again, the hallways shadowed and cool, but peaceful. Kadowaki's drug was wearing off quickly; Squall was now able to walk on his one with relative ease, though Rinoa still led him through the darkness. He did not object, as much because he still was not completely convinced the conjured crisis was over. He wanted her near him. He did not want to lose touch with her again. Not for a second.

Rinoa seemed startled at his question, spoken in a low tone that wasn't so slurred, closer to his usual clarity. "What? Oh…" She bowed her head slightly, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. " …Well, sort of. Not exactly. It's just…" She slowed, stopped. She looked up at him, thoughtfully studying what little she could see of his expression in the dark. It did not seem that he was scowling, but perhaps her eyes were tricking her. "I'd noticed, lately, you've been so restless. You've been pacing. You kept talking about being sick of how nothing ever happens here…I only suggested everyone do something _about _it for your birthday. I never expected it to become such a big covert operation."

"…I see."

Rinoa smiled sadly. They continued walking, slowly, in silence.

It was ten minutes to midnight by the time they reached their quarters. Beyond the window the light of Balamb Garden's golden ring merged with the moonlight, the resonance of both ethereal auras apt partners. Rinoa stood in the doorway, staring across the room at the window, through it, past it.

Squall slid gently out of her grasp and counted his steps to the bed, where he'd left his gunblade and duffel. He moved them both to the corner, out of the way. He tossed the shirt Seifer had given to him on the dresser. "You got everyone together," he said abruptly, standing and turning toward his Sorceress. "Just for all that."

Rinoa finally stepped out of the doorway and into the room, the door sliding quietly closed behind her. "…When I suggested it, everyone jumped on it. Every senior SeeD in Garden donated a month's pay toward buying that robot design and then having Estharian mechanics alter it to seem as real as possible. It was this big secret…everyone wanted it to be something special, that you'd actually have fun with. Taking on the next big challenge…that's what your life is all about. It's what's important to you. We wanted to…honor that, I guess. So we set it up. Or, Xu did, really. All I had to do was convince you to come to the party."

"Funny," Squall mused, though he did not smile. "I actually enjoyed that part of it more." He spent a few seconds thinking on the fact, then, raising his eyes, extended his hand to her. She covered the room in a few paces, taking the offering and drawing him near, stopping only when he slid his hand up her arm to rest on her shoulder. He reached out and gripped her other, similarly. "I appreciate what you and everyone tried to do for me," he "It means…more than you think. More than I'll say."

"I told you," she whispered, tracing a finger down his fever-flushed cheek, "you have nothing to prove. There are some things, Squall, only you can do."

"Yeah, well…" He tossed her hand lightly from his face, accepting a tenuous embrace instead of the touch. "Next time…just throw me a party, okay? Don't scare the hell out of me."

"'Next time'…" She repeated the words softly. "You don't say that, much."

"I try not to think about it, usually." He pulled back, slowly releasing her, though he still stared at her, as if he had something more to say.

_Past _her,_ through _her…like a window, she thought. Like he was staring at the stars, waiting for one to fall.

"I admit," she murmured, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "I did get you a birthday present. Please don't be mad at me. I know you hate presents. I was saving it for last."

This earned her a soft sigh, a resigned look. "What is it?"

"Nothing fancy. But you could use it on your mission."

Tired, but curious, Squall waited while Rinoa dug through her sock drawer for—whatever it was. She returned with something hidden in her fist, and pressed a small, metallic object into his hand. It was about the size and shape of an almond, attached to a short keychain.

"Squeeze it," she instructed him, "it's a button."

He did so. Half a second later, a sharp _beep beep _made him nearly jump out of his skin—the sound had come from his left front pocket. He reached in and pulled out another tiny piece of metal, this one attached to a small, toothed clip with which to fasten it to things.

"For your razor," Rinoa explained, folding her hands behind her innocently. "Or whatever."

Squall smirked, almost laughed at the handy little gadget. It was simple, practical, devoid of grandeur—something he might actually use. "…Thanks," he said lamely, not sure what else to say.

"That was the last surprise of the day." She smiled up at him. "Happy birthday, Squall. I hope you had a good one."

His hand closed around the twin pieces of his present. He turned to look directly into the windows of Rinoa's eyes. As the last hour of the night concluded, Squall Leonhart closed his eyes and smiled.

"Yeah," he said. "I did."

****

* * *

**  
****Author's notes:  
"Choco Beat" sung to the tune of "Conga" with apologies to Gloria Estefan,****  
A link to the full lyrics of Choco Beat can be found in my profile.  
**

**For anyone who might be wondering—this fic hits exactly 23 pages in length—in _11_pt font.**

**…and Happy 23rd Birthday, Squall Leonhart!**

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